Playing the Player

Playing someone or getting played has become a common phrase in our dating lives. It seems more and more often we hear people speaking of hating the player or the game, playing the game, or getting played by the player. Why are so many of us falling prey to this elusive player that sneaks up and catches us off guard during this complex game? If it is so common, shouldn’t we know better? Aren’t there signs that the game has started and we are getting pounded? Although the players always leave glaring clues of their identity as well as the rules of their game, we ignore and play on. It feels so guiltless to call it being played or pretend the alleged player has some kind of super vagina/penis hypnotizing power. If this player exists, we never have to take responsibility for our inaction in dating, love or sex. Here’s the story.

I met a man from Venezuela. He was tall, funny, had greasy longish hair and he wore a lot of raggedy bracelets that looked like the odds and end of his world travels. I generally seethed with anger when I saw him because he reminded me of a boy I dated for a minute, who was a manipulative ass-head. This is what I saw, but all the other women in the office saw a tall, handsome foreigner with smoldering brown eyes, tousled bed hair and wrists bejeweled like an exotic Vegas pimp with the charm of a modern day prince.

Due to my bias and illogical repulsion by Mr. Wonderful’s presence, I was able to be friends with him and have no attraction whatsoever. We both liked to drink a lot, eat, act like jackasses and then drink more. Oh sigh…..he could have been my platonic soul-mate. I even identified with his girl chasing. He always talked about women and what a pariah he was. I highly doubted his self-proclaimed glory, but I found it entertaining and every once in a while I would get to throw in one of my tales of glory and boy chasing.

Office observations and rumors began circulating and speculating on our friendship as he and I spent lunches at the beach, surfed on the weekends, and were the first at happy hour every Friday. My female office mates said, “You should go for him. He’s so good looking.”

“Guys, I’m not into him and he is not into me. We are just friends and I want to keep it that way. I love having a drinking buddy.”

“Ok. But he’s so good-looking. Whatever, one of these drinking nights it’s going to happen.”

I hoped not, but knowing me, the possibility was certainly there and if it happened, oh well. Oh well?

Oh crap.

As soon as I thought, “if we kiss, oh well,” I knew there was finally an attraction brewing. However, I am a smart girl who has read He’s Just Not That into You at least three times. I decided to ignore my body butterflies and forge the friendship. I knew over time the silly feeling would evaporate and I would still have a great friendship.

…and this would have worked had I not been the target of a player.

While I was establishing a carefree friendship, he was laying track in preparation to…park…ride….something about his train and….I don’t think I need to finish this far too explicit metaphor.

Weeks and weekends of hanging out come and go. One Saturday morning, Mr. Wonderful texted, “What r you doing tonite?”

“No plans. TV, wine, movie, myself? What r you up to?”

“There is party at my friend’s house. The Italian girls.”

“Cool. I’m sure you’ll have fun. Lots of girls.”

“Or………you could come with me.”

This sounded unusual and like a date. No. It couldn’t be. I had meticulously gone through Greg Behrendt’s signs and I knew this guy had no romantic or sexual interest in me….Suddenly I recalled the chapter about most guys having no problem with sabotaging or ditching a friendship for sex. Dang.

Hopefully he would read the subtle message behind the curt text: We are just friends so stop running game.

On Sunday he texted again, “What r u doing?”

“Nothing much. Just doing some work.”

“You know I am professional lover?”

“Are you drunk?”

“No, ja, ja, ja. You know I am professional lover? “He asked again.

“Yeah, yeah. You’ve told me.”

“….You want try...”

What? Was he booty calling me? I checked the time. 9:30 pm. A little early for a booty call, but maybe there is a booty call time difference between countries. I responded, “What have you been drinking?”

“not drunk. Come over.”

“I think you r tired. Go to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.” So, this was annoying and dangerous.

Two weeks later, we drank a lot of beer, all of our friends mysteriously left early, and he made his move. While I did fall prey to some making out and cuddling, I turned him down when he tried to consummate me as a chump who just got played. Yes, drunk and horny, I said no to sex because I had kind of figured out his game. I felt invincible. This feeling was confirmed the next week when a female coworker, who I have occasionally seen in the halls, asked me about Mr. Wonderful:

“Hey, you are friends with Mr. wonderful right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, everyone is telling me they heard he is a bad guy but I don’t know why. He told me that I should ask you since you are his friend.”

As we chatted, we discovered that these texts and tactics of his were being used among at least 3 different girls, one of which was me, another of which was her. I was overjoyed as the sun rose over my single life and I achieved dating girl Nirvana: I did not get serious about a douche bag and I did not get played! There were even larger ramifications from this success…if I had not been played then he was a little less of a player.

Hypothesis: If you recognize the player, then deny the player and thus do not get played, the player ceases to exist as he is denied into extinction. He or she can only be defined by the bodies that lay waste like used condom wrappers in his or her sexual history. If you want sex, but no one will give it up, you’re just single and going through a dry spell, but definitely not a player. Rejoice people! You do not have to get played. Read the book and resist temptation for a better option. The next time you are drunk and horny, sex-up the nice guy or girl standing next to the wannabe douche bag/player.

Comments

I finally go out to lunch with Cute Gary (not his real name, but close enough). Cute Gary is just about the most handsome Asian guy I've ever seen. He's like an Asian Ken doll. He should be the lead on some Chinese soap opera. And perhaps he could be, since it's (supposedly) his first language.

The parenthetical "supposedly" you see above wouldn't have been included in that sentence before last Thursday. That's when everything I thought I knew about Cute Gary was called sharply into question.

Let me elaborate.

I met Cute Gary in a class this past spring. In addition to truly devastating cuteness, I found that he was also funny and hella-SMART. He bested my score on a couple of exams, and I informed him that he sucked balls -- all the while wondering if he actually ever HAD, considering that I had a hard time believing a guy could be this cute AND straight. And I'm still not sure.

We began a cycle of hanging out after class, talking for up to a couple of hours. His story: He was "in finance" before the big bad recession. Right now, he's not working, but doesn't need to. Has a house close to the city, that is on the market but not selling. Buying an as yet unselected condo for CASH near me. Restores cars and owns 6 of them. Net worth: $1.8 million. He actually tells me this.

Not 'too' big a deal by Cali standards, but certainly doing a lot better than I am, which is currently, well, pretty much BROKE. I've made no secret of this fact. It ain't my fault, I've been screwed, yadda yadda, story for another day...

Okaaaayyy...So we finally go to lunch. He issues the invitation and picks the restaurant, which turns out to be little more than a taco stand. But, I'm getting ahead of myself. I'll bet you're wondering what Prince Charming's chariot looks like. Welllll, lemme tell ya...

This was the nastiest car I've ever been in in my life. The crappy black plastic dash and instrument panel were completely covered in dirt. I know for sure that I saw LOTS of trash, change, clothes, grocery bags, and various types of paper material. I can only speculate about what else might have been lurking. A half-eaten burger from 1993? Some used condoms from high school, perhaps? A long-lost pet snake, feeding on the native vermin?

This car was a rolling garbage dumpster, complete with its own unnatural ecosystem. Removing any part of it probably would have upset some kind of food chain and caused some mutant thing scientists haven't even discovered yet to go extinct.

Single, I got another class with the guy, starting next Monday.
But he's definitely dunzo, based on that experience.

You're right, of course. I've seen the type before, TOO many times. I'm a con/deadbeat MAGNET, and I was already suspicious that this would turn out to be the case.

I'm still on the fence about how to handle his presence this upcoming semester, however. Here's what I think:

I think he's getting the BOOT from wherever he's currently living, and just about to be homeless, if he's not already. He says he doesn't own a computer, and this has been the case since spring. Why? A satisfactory answer has never been given. I doubt he has the money to buy one, and probably has no home to put it in, either.

He's saying things to the effect of his "agent" wanting him out of the house by the end of the month. (I bet it's his landlord or his sister instead).

I think he's considering the possibility of getting into my freakin' apartment and bunking on my couch. I know he likes my location -- walking distance to school. He's commented about how great that is a FEW times. Very convenient for him.

I also think he's probably hedging his bets, and working the same plan on at least a few other people. The story will be that he's closed on his old house because the buyer wants to move in, and that he hasn't had an offer accepted on a new place yet. Just a prediction, and one which may sound pretty nutty to anyone else. But I've been through this before, and I know what I attract. Repeatedly. Something smells rotten in Denmark (although it could also be emanating from a 1990 Honda Civic).

Has a house close to the city, that is on the market but not selling. Buying an as yet unselected condo for CASH near me. Restores cars and owns 6 of them. Net worth: $1.8 million. He actually tells me this.

Wow, Geekess falls for the biggest line in the business......how old did you say you were Geekess?.... and Im not talking dog years either sweety.

"Wow, Geekess falls for the biggest line in the business......how old did you say you were Geekess?.... and Im not talking dog years either sweety."

Nunya, dips***. And I didn't exactly fall for it. If your reading comprehension skills were a little better, you might have caught that.

Why don't you run back on over to Bauder's place and flail around trying to convince folks your I.Q. is somewhere over that of an Afghan?

(Not the hound. One of those ugly blankets little old ladies make.)

Don't get all excited and pee on yourself, either. I'm not replying to you again. So enjoy. Read this over and over again. Print it on multiple sheets of paper, frame 'em and hang 'em all over the doghouse or under your bridge.

Don't get all excited and pee on yourself, either. I'm not replying to you again. So enjoy. Read this over and over again. Print it on multiple sheets of paper, frame 'em and hang 'em all over the doghouse or under your bridge.